Wriggling uncomfortably <br />in the confines of the small space. <br />So many bodies compressed <br />as the motion of the journey <br />rolls us from side to side <br />with crushing of acceleration <br />and jerks of surprise. <br /> <br />At last, the final stop <br />the freshness of air <br />and sound of birdsong, <br />as the inhuman container <br />of our journey is opened, sprung. <br />The birdsong grows louder <br />and evokes strange shivers <br />of apprehension as we grow colder. <br /> <br />Now picked up gently in your hands, <br />a warmth of reassurance <br />in such a large unrecognised forest, <br />with the sound of waters <br />unhurried flowing....... <br /> <br />The steel hook pierces flesh <br />and a shock of cold water <br />envelopes in its entirety. <br />As a flash of shiny scales <br />heralds the arrival <br />of two rows of sharp teeth.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-of-the-line-3/
